The lost episode of House MD
by Twin Snakes
Summary: Creepy pasta involving a doctor who investigates a "lost episode" of House MD after his patients watch an unmarked DVD from the unknown.  Warning, this is quite disturbing  hence the 'M' rating and very AU and OOC.
1. The diary begins

Subject: Market Research Cards

Appearance: 

Card measures at 20X20 cm, is of a pure white colour, with black text on both sides.

Text (Front):

Dear Sir/Madam.

Congratulations on finding this card – a free gift awaits you.

Please indicate your preference.

House M.D

Casualty

Holby City

E.R

Text (back):

INSTRUCTIONS.

State your preference.

State the address of local Post box (DO NOT STATE YOUR HOME ADDRESS) on an envelope with this card inside.

Send envelope to the address below.

Send nothing else to this address.

To whom it may concern:

I am Dr , I work in the psychiatric department of Mayfair Hospital, on the high-risk ward. At the moment, there are six patients within my care, each of them presenting with extreme paranoia, generalised anxiety disorder, suicidal tendencies, punctuated by psychotic episodes. These patients are linked by one common cause. The free Gift.

According to my staffs' numerous highly-disturbing psychiatric reports, there has been a spate of "dangerous" Market Research cards appearing in random locations around the U.K. It is not the cards themselves that are considered a threat, but it is the free gift (a DVD) that is the root cause of the patients' mental breakdowns.

The "gifts" are based on what preference the person selects; one card may have a selection of movies from the 1920's, one may have a selection of Bollywood films and one may have a selection of popular medical dramas (this particular card is in my possession). Upon watching the DVD, the patients claim that the characters within the shows act hostile towards each other and various nightmarish images appear on screen. The person then starts having frequent, bizarre nightmare, punctuated by episodes of intense paranoia; they feel that everyone is out to get them. This eventually evolves into suicidal tendencies.

To investigate the nature of these DVDs and their origins, I will follow the steps printed on the back of the card. I will be keeping a diary and I will provide as much evidence (pictures, audio, etc) as possible.

I realise that there are many implications involved in my investigation; legalities of information disclosed by patients and detrimental effects on my psychological well-being, but I still choose to go ahead with my research.

Daily Diary.

Day 1:

Filled out and posted card (I opted for House M.D); made sure to not add my home address, but the address of the local Post Office instead. I told the clerk that the package was of utmost importance and that they should contact me when it arrives.

Day 2:

No word on my delivery yet. Usual rounds on the ward; tried to talk to my patients, but they weren't co-operating.

** The next 6 days were relatively uneventful**

Day 8:

I tried to talk to my patients about the DVD, but no one, except Emily Hume, would co-operate properly. She mentioned a few key facts about the DVD (the words "anger", "suicide" and "faces" kept cropping up within her disjointed sentences) then promptly hid under her quilt. Emily kept requesting for someone to "nail the sheets to the mattress" to stop "it" getting in. I instructed the ward sister to sit by her bed and reassure her that she was safe then tried to coax Emily into taking a mild sedative.

Day 9:

Around midday, I got an eager call from the post office asking me to pick up my package. When I got there, the post-mistress eyed me up from the other end of the room. I still remember the conversation.

Me: Good afternoon, I'm Dr , I'm here to pick up my package.

PM: Sign here and get out. Don't ever use this address again.

She trembled slightly as she spoke – was she having a rough day? I took the box and left. Maybe she got in trouble with her manager? I've never experienced such unwarranted hostility. Did I break the rules somehow?

I went back to work and put the package in my desk. Am I doing the right thing?


	2. Day 10

Day 10:

Whilst at my desk, my secretary spilled coffee all over my right hand. She ran out the room and didn't return until later.

Day 11:

I remembered to take the DVD home. Whilst I was in the car, I got caught in traffic on the motorway. I was under a bridge and a small rock hit the passenger side of my car, destroying the headlight. The drivers in the other cars just looked over at my car in disgust—they're probably shocked at the audacity of this random act of vandalism. I couldn't see who threw the rock, but I knew I had to get home quick, before the police pull me over.

I said hello to my neighbour as I pulled up my driveway, but he just stared at me. There were tears in his eyes.

I went to greet my fiancé Terri, and she ran to the toilet. I promised to take her out for lunch tomorrow.

Day 12:

I did not sleep at all last night – I kept thinking about today.

It's Saturday and I'm finally going to watch the DVD. I'm apprehensive and I admit, I am a little bit worried, but I think it's in my patients' best interests to investigate the cause of their problems.

I told my fiancé that we were going to watch a film. She got angry and stormed off upstairs. I called after her and told her that I'd take her out later. She threw her book down the stairs.

There's definitely something wrong. I get the feeling that this disc is attracting a lot of hostility.

I had to push forth and watch this disc though – I can't come this far and give up already.

** The next section is a transcript of the DVD's contents**

The feature played immediately (there were no menus and there was the little timer in the corner – typical for a promo copy). There was no dramatic opening scene.

The opening started up and the music was there (albeit with reverb), but there were no names of the actors accompanying the pictures. The picture of the lake, that would normally accompany Jennifer Morrisons' name, was off too – the boat was rowing backwards very slowly and the camera seemed to be zooming in on the rowers' head. This only lasted for a minute and the camera didn't get too close.

I put it down to a mistake on the creators' part (maybe someone had tampered with it and no-one had time to correct it) and continued watching.

The screen snapped to black, then suddenly snapped to what looked liked actual footage of the cast between scenes. I say that because the actual camerawork had none of the gloss or editing you usually see on American TV.

Cameron, Chase and Foreman were sitting around the large table in the Diagnostics Office (there was no Taub, 13 or Martha) as if waiting for House to arrive. The characters seemed very off.

Foreman stared malevolently at his knuckles, Cameron looked like she was on the verge of tears and Chase was idly tapping his pen on the table only stopping to look up in disgust at his colleagues. It was as if they hated each others' guts.

After about 10 minutes, the titular doctor crept through the door – as if he was scared to disturb them – and hovered at the far corner of the room. His whole demeanour was sad, almost broken, as he kept mumbling the same phrase under his breath over and over again. He spoke softly, his voice warping with emotion (I could even hear the trademark English accent breaking through), as the other characters barely even registered his presence.

House edged closer to the table, when Foreman suddenly stopped glaring at his knuckles and shot up from his seat. He picked up a nearby mug and threw it onto House, dousing him with searing hot coffee – I swear, I will never forget how much Houses' squeal made me jump. He dropped to the floor, out of shot, and began to sob – a horrible, low, childish whine that progressed into a wracking, breathless sob. It was like he was choking on his own sadness. The screen slowly faded to white and the cries became this irritating high-pitched electronic wail – I have never heard anything so weird before.

The next sequence had the camera panning across the corridors of Princeton Plainsborogh Teaching Hospital in a very jerky fashion – more like a slideshow than actual film. There was no sound. Only two people were in the hallway in one frame; two women with jet black hair and weird faces – it was like someone had uploaded an image to Photoshop and tinkered with the facial proportions (pupils and teeth made larger, eyebrows and nostrils smaller). The women were posed in a very stiff, very warped fashion; they seemed to be talking and laughing, but their eyes looked bewildered, as if forced into this uncomfortable position.

The timer in the corner seemed to be going crazy – the time skipped forward a few hours, then back one hour.

The camera stopped on the exterior shot of the mens' room. Out of nowhere, a hand suddenly appeared (this time the film quality became that of a camcorder – no gloss or editing) and pushed the door open from the hands' P.O.V. All cubicle doors were half-open, except one, which was shut. There were random sounds of what I guessed to be elbows hitting the door. At the bottom of the screen, underneath the door, the viewer could make out a pair of smart leather dress shoes. The feet seemed to shuffle a little. Moaning is heard, high pitched and agitated, but I cannot make out what it is saying. A loud bang and a thump is heard, then the man inside the cubicle slumps.

The hand opens the cubicle door.

Wilson appears to be sprawled over the toilet; his red tie dangling underneath him and a large bullet exit-wound on the back of his head. There is more agitated mumbling and the camcorder is dropped to the floor – everything goes to static. I assumed the camera had broken.

I was about to switch the TV off, when a face suddenly appeared on the screen. I did not recognize who or what it was, but it started talking – live-action footage of a mans' mouth was superimposed onto the static image of the face and it was talking to me. I could not hear a thing, nor could I make out what words the lips were forming, but I reacted nonetheless…it felt like my brain was hearing words, but my ears weren't.

The bottom lip quivered on the face (a nasty, electronic screech accompanying every jerk of the lip) and my dvd player just gave up there and then.

I needed comfort – I was sweating and cold and I felt sick. I went upstairs to see Terri, but she hid under the bed and told me to get out. She looked at me like I was filthy. I wanted to smash her fucking face in.

I went back to the DVD. I needed to see the part with the face again; I wanted to know exactly what it was saying. Forwarding the DVD at 4 times the speed, I noticed different images – things I hadn't seen before. Reels of Sped up footage filled the screen; graphic neurosurgery, autistic children arranging toy bricks (yellow, red, blue), emaciated arms lying on hospital bedding, thrashing, flailing, thrashing. Emilys' disjointed sentences ran through my mind

SUICIDE FACES ANGER

On a constant reel.

Bitch came down the stairs and stared at me. I told her to fuck off, fucking bitch, looking at me

SUICIDE FACES ANGER

ANGER FACES SUICIDE

I couldn't find the face again

Words in my head

She cries and

She cries some more

I sleep now.


	3. Day 13 and the end

Day 13:

I couldn't sleep properly last night. Although I'm calm now, I had the most disturbing dream.

I was in a nuclear wasteland – desolate fields on all sides, all aflame. I was hungry and so was my fiancé. We walked through the lands (I wanted her dead, and I think she knew) and came across a human corpse. I said I couldn't eat him. Terri sat on his face and her grin stretched to her ears. She told me that the man didn't have a face anymore, ergo it wasn't human. I remember the wave of nausea as I put my hands inside his abdomen and pulled out fresh intestines. Terri laughed.

Everyone hates me.

Day 14:

Another nightmare last night. Fuck work. I'm tired. Terri isn't talking to me.

I dreamt I was lying in a hospital bed, emaciated. I had no energy to get up or even swallow properly. I was sobbing, silently sobbing. Terri came into my room, left a prosthetic arm beside me and went back out again. I gripped the hand of the arm and pretended it was living. I didn't want to be alone.

Day 15:

Keep getting calls – I don't want to go into work. Everyone hates me.

Terri has fucked off somewhere.

I snapped the disc in half and threw it outside.

My head feels as if it's gonna explode. I can't sleep anymore. I can just about write.

Day 16:

Children playing across the street have malevolent faces. It's observing me through the fresh corpses of little girls and boys.

Day 17:

Terri comes home, tears in her eyes. It's fake. She lies with me on the bed and I wish I could tell her of all the things I have seen, but I know I can't.

I tell her I'm ill and I need help.

Day 18:

I'm on my way to the hospital – im so empty that I'm parroting what the man says on the radio in Terri's car.

I don't recognize the hospital. I look in the wing-mirror and I don't recognize myself.


End file.
